4th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A faultless blue sky. A warm sun dappling along the paths beneath the trees. The grass is lush and green. The waves are playfully boisterous and the water is warm enough for a November swim. But there is an edge to the gentle breeze to remind the unwary that autumn is well underway. But by mid day, little tufts of white cloud trail out into high streaks and at lower altitudes bigger clouds begin to form. The afternoon has a certain sort of silence underlined by the the rythmic shusssh of the waves. The voices of the gulls come from somewhere away in the direction of the town.
From 4th November 2021
The cold air is chivvied along by a snappy little breeze. The sea shuffles backwards and forwards on the sand. The workers are digging deep into the beach building the new groynes and are wading knee deep in sea water at the bottom of the excavation. The sky is a clear blue except for a wide purple cummerbund of cloud. Below that, the sun is a brilliant lemon yellow so bright that it is impossible to look into it. A couple walking just in front of me are nearly invisible shades only outlined by an intense yellow halo of light. A crow caws loudly from the top of a pine tree and swoops down to see off a small dog. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #November
From 4th November 2020
I have often described the liminal – the time and space after and the time and space before. This dawn feels like that. A fresh crisp air and a faint covering of frost on the grass – the first I’ve seen this autumn. The hard, silver moon, just after full, hangs at the top of a pale blue sky. For a moment there is a wash of primrose and palest pink as the sun edges up behind a band of jagged purple edged with brilliant red and orange but it fades within minutes. There are still pools of dark under the trees where a small band of figures chatter excitedly before beginning their session of physical jerks. Further round the path there are a few bottles and paper cups from a last desperate gathering before the lockdown. Out on the bay tiny intense lights show where boats are fishing although it is still too dark to make out the boats themselves against the gently rising sea. The siren of one of our cruise ships booms softly three times. A crow calls.
